


The Long Way Round

by levitatethis



Category: Glee
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-04
Updated: 2010-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 09:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn carries the weight of every decision on his shoulders</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long Way Round

  
**I  
**  
Finn knows the difference between right and wrong.

He understands the strength it takes to stand apart from the crowd and assert beliefs that go against popular opinion. He is also well aware it’s easier to fade into the background and be different in silence (holding that Kurt kid’s designer jacket while the rest of the jocks toss him into the trash, wanting to stop Puck because it’s wrong, but keeping quiet instead) without drawing unwanted attention. It’s the default position he’s grown accustomed to. Maybe too much so.

He wants to be a better man than his actions have unfortunately implied. It’s in him to do so, but he sees the consequences visited upon those who dare to march to a different beat (cherry, blueberry, grape—one slushie size fits all) and it scares him—to step outside of the box, to shrug off heavy expectations, to_ listen_ to the all-too-knowing voice in his head, grumbling over his missing courage.

The few changes Finn has dared to make have been trouble enough. He’s survived the challenges, yet the pit in his stomach remains. He’s better than this, but even he doesn’t always believe that.

  
**  
II**

There’s safety in numbers.

Amongst the few—the looked down upon few, the muddled mass of six then twelve (go forth and multiply but be careful what you wish for)—Finn can (finally? Once again?) breathe. And even though his dancing raises an amused eyebrow from Artie _(“I could turn circles around your two left feet”_), despite the fact his voice brings a discerning quirk to Mercedes mouth _(“Maybe this song’s not for_ everyone”), in this music room, on this stage, with this motley crew of the dejected and rejected (the once declared “freaks and losers), he feels part of something that’s as much _his_ as it is _theirs_.

He knows full well he can carry a tune, at best, and when it comes to dancing he can just squeak by making his limbs go in the right direction (except when he’s playing the drums and then he’s all there, _owning it_, and no one, _no one_, can touch him) but he tries, he really does, and he appreciates (on most days but not all) that Mr. Schue sees something in him worth seeing. It’s the kind of thing his mum sees, but she’s supposed to so it doesn’t quite count in the same way.

The thing is, it’s more than a teacher taking him under his wing or a group of people he used to watch get bullied (by…not friends, but teammates), accepting him, flaws and all.

It’s more than Rachel—so ambitious and driven it leaves him in a stupefied awe—looking at _him_ (feeling so average most of the time) with the same kind of intensity she approaches music and her life in general that it both spooks and encourages him (_“Finn, I believe one of the many things we have in common is that we are continually underestimated. I have made it one of my many life goals that my reach shall exceed my grasp. I believe with the proper dedication you will prove yourself to be the same type of achiever and an unexpected yet welcome compliment to me_”).

It’s more than standing on his own, even after Quinn steals and breaks his heart and Puck fucking betrays him.

It’s more than his mum opening her heart up to a new home and a new family and rendering everything he thought he knew upside down, making him learn what a leap of faith must be.

Finn’s life is all these things, the good in the bad, one connected to the next, fit together like a puzzle and somehow pushing him upwards. He’s rarely been happier.

Which is why it hurts all the more when the tainted touch of judgment and revenge, deliberate hurt and disguised indifference push across the protective boundaries of personal space and make him regret ever letting any of these people near him, inside. Being accountable for his own mistakes is one jagged pill to swallow. Being subject to others whims is the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

**III**

At heart Finn is still (always has been, through thick and thin—and there’s been a whole lot of that) an idealist. Like all others on the planet he wants to be happy; wants the same for everyone else.

He believes the best in others—

Correction—

He _wants_ to believe in it.

Ms. Pillsbury told him, _“Plausible deniability only goes so far, Finn. Then one day you realize your head’s been stuck in the sand and all everyone sees is you’re an ass”_—or something like that. Although he’s never been book smart, he knows damn well how to read people. He recognizes cues, conscious and subconscious; notes the ones that make him too nervous to deal with but unable to avoid in a fit of denial.

He plays mind games with himself, the kinds that suggest Quinn wasn’t malicious when she pretended he (rather than Puck) was the father of her baby; the types of mental warfare that says Kurt’s crush is purely innocent, that he’s not really playing chess with peoples lives under some misguided delusion; it’s the willing suspension of disbelief that he’s as good a singer as Jesse St. James and Rachel can surely see the heart Finn’s trying to wear on his sleeve instead of the cool moves of some opportunistic jerk.

Finn can play ignorance is bliss until his head hurts and stomach twists in on itself, but there comes a point when all that’s left is for the nuclear reactor to go off and then BOOM!

They all fall down.

Being the nice guy doesn’t mean being steamrolled. In his case, however, he ricochets between being too subtle and an atomic bomb. But sometimes, to be heard, to be seen and acknowledged, he has to go postal. What was that movie he watched with his mum once? _“We all go a little mad sometimes.”_ Sure that guy was a psychopath in a dress, but still, the sentiment was spot on.

Cruel to be kind.

There’s nothing mature about it, but he _is_ only human on the inside.

He figures they expect him to roll over and take it. Or maybe they just don’t consider what he’s thinking or that he’s thinking anything at all. And when he lashes out, forces his voice past protesting lips more used to biting back questioning retorts, there are casualties.

Including himself.

_“I feel sorry for you. I thought you were different.”_

_“I_ am _different.” _

Metaphorically speaking, Finn’s body is a tally of wounds.

  
**IV **

Flip the coin: heads or tails, they’re the same thing. Hope on one side; regret on the other. He hears, _“It’s a fine line between love and hate,”_ and thinks it’s an even finer one between wishful thinking and dejection.

Everyone wants something and he pictures himself as one of those patchwork dolls, a mismatched collection of coloured fabric, barely held together with crisscrossed stitching. One pull in the wrong direction, one strong gust of wind, and he’ll unravel completely.

In the blink of an eye Finn sees—

His mum’s face pleading sweetly for him to understand she’s fallen in love for the first time in forever turn into a distant look of loss and longing.

Rachel’s bright grin and blown wide brown eyes crumple and transform into a stoic mask of cool indifference.

Kurt’s watchful and lingering stare turn into a hurt flinch as he recoils and backs away.

Quinn and Puck, their backs to him and a space between their bodies, moving further and further away.

Burt’s smile, calming and warm at first, falter through surprise only to reconfigure as a frown, a look of such disappointment left in its place it makes Finn’s chest tighten and throat go dry.

Finn is not the sum of his mistakes, but two plus two can equal five when no one’s looking. In his heart he knows he doesn’t shoulder all of the blame, but he bears enough responsibility that maybe he can do something to make it right and have it count.

He’s tired of living in the shadows. At some point everyone else has prompted him to stop and take a look at himself and ask, _“Who is the real Finn Hudson?”_ The learning curve is steep and taking the long way round is a trial, but ultimately they’ve all helped him see the man who has been trying to catch his attention in the mirror.

It’s his turn to return the favour.

  
**  
V**

Finn’s surprised he’s not scared. Not like he used to be.

Putting himself out there only invites more expectations—expectations he doesn’t know he can live up to, expectations he’s not sure are totally fair.

Rather than fear, however, he feels the initial tinge of excitement that comes with the thrill of possibility. It’s a different kind of pressure, one that doesn’t make him feel useless or at the mercy of others.

Finn can say the words,_ “I love you”_ now and _mean_ it. He can say those words and not be fucking selfish enough to _have_ to hear them back for them to matter. He can walk down the hall with a friend, any friend, and not give a shit what anyone else thinks or says. He’s willing to take a punch for that friend and he’s ready to hit back. He’s less tentative about speaking up even if no one wants to hear it. His voice has come to matter in more ways than one.

He gains more from taking smart chances, from treating expectations like goals worth striving for.

There’s a firm hand holding his, fingers intertwined, squeezing affectionately; a head resting gently on his shoulder; and a smile of consideration cast kindly upon him. All the words he once wanted to say yet found too difficult now sit more comfortably (if still a bit awkward) on his tongue. They don’t fall on deaf ears, if they ever really did, but only now does he notice when they click in place behind someone else’s eyes.

Old scars and self-inflicted bruises are fading. He’s still out of rhythm, but he hasn’t lost the beat; he senses it pounding in time with his heart. As cheesy as it sounds to say there’s a song inside—always has been—trying to get out, it’s the only way to describe the indescribable. He doesn’t recognize the tune. Still, it’s familiar all the same, like something he heard once on the radio. It echoes in his head, just out of reach without letting go until he’s humming under his breath.

Finn marches out of time yet in step with those who have always tread off the beaten path. Good company in the unknown wraps him in a bizarre cloak of freedom he’s begun settling into like a well worn pair of jeans. There’s temptation to test just how far that freedom extends, but he’s mindful that his actions have consequences, that other people are affected by them, for good and bad. His life has been a series of two steps forward, one step back. Where it once played out like a badly thought out football play, now it unfolds like a dance—where stumbling is a fact but not a punishment and not giving up is more the reward than finishing on your feet.

Finn twists his mouth into a bashful smile. Taking a deep breath, he sets his sights forward and wonders what comes next.

For once he feels ready.


End file.
